


Imagine you’re in the zombie apocalypse.

by imagineyourepregnant



Category: Original Work
Genre: Birth Fetish, Fpreg, Hyperpregnancy, Mpreg, Other, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant Sex, Unplanned Pregnancy, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, labor fetish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 04:49:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineyourepregnant/pseuds/imagineyourepregnant





	Imagine you’re in the zombie apocalypse.

Imagine you’re in the zombie apocalypse. It’s been a while after the outbreak and you’ve been on your own for most of it. After so long, you’ve lost hope that law enforcement or the military or anyone will do anything to help stop the spread and keep humanity alive. You’re getting burned out. You decide that with no hope left, it might be best to just end it. You look around and you see that you are near a funeral home. You’re pleased by the potential poetry of dying in a funeral home in a world plagued by a never-ending series of funerals – if you’re lucky enough to get a funeral. Plus, it’s unlikely to be full of zombies considering that funeral homes aren’t exactly hotspots like hospitals, grocery stores, and gas stations are. Very few people go to funeral homes to get supplies.

You approach the funeral home and see that the backdoor is slightly open. It’s not a great sign, but you decide to check it out anyway. You see someone lying on one of the beds/tables the morticians probably used to dress up the bodies before a funeral and at first you think it is a person, a living, breathing person, because you don’t see or smell any decay. But then the body moves and jerks in a stilted, unnatural way and you see the dead look in its eyes. You prepare yourself to kill it, moving carefully closer wondering why it doesn’t lunge at you like they usually do. Then you see that its left hand is handcuffed to the leg of the bed/table and its feet are tied to the corners with some sort of cable.

Knowing you’re relatively safe, you finally look at the thing, noticing that it is rather handsome. You assume that it’s fairly new. Some guy got bitten, saw the funeral home, and, perhaps imagining the same sick poetry you were, decided to come here to die. Only this guy couldn’t kill himself, instead he just made sure he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

Staring at his handsome face, you have a thought, a totally crazy thought. You want to enjoy one last time before you off yourself, one last moment of ecstasy to take away from this forsaken world. You look at the restrained zombie and you think that you only would have to restrain one more arm.

You decide to go for it. Screw crazy. Everything is crazy in this world now.

You move to find something to tie his other arm down and, although it takes a fair bit of effort, you get him secured in place. You pull his pants and boxers down to his knees, as well as removing your own clothes and climb on top of him. Crouching over the writhing naked body with your naked crotch hovering over it, you suddenly wonder if he can still even get hard. You know that blood is still pumping through his body to a certain extent, but it’s never been clear how it all works. The only way to find out if it is possible is to do it, so you take his dick in your hand and begin to stroke it and it takes a little while, but you feel the blood start to flow in and it gets harder and harder. Feeling a wave of surprise and excitement, you give it a few more strokes before positioning yourself above it and finally sinking yourself down.

The zombie goes wild beneath you. You’re seated heavily on his hips, so he’s not making much progress, but you feel him shift and move. You start to raise yourself up, feeling the slide of his dick as you pull off, but as soon as you start to get close to moving off completely, he suddenly jerks his hips up, roughly shoving the entirely of his dick back up inside you at once. You groan, enjoying the feeling of being filled and fucked after going for so long without. Although the zombie can’t figure out how to get coordinated, you find a way to get pleasure out of the unpredictability. After such a long time without, your orgasm is coming on quickly and you feel a rush of being alive that you haven’t felt in a long time and you almost feel drunk because of it. Your orgasm rocks you to your core, waking you up from the apathy that’s been eating away at you. Shortly after you cum, you feel the result of the zombie’s orgasm splash inside of you. You don’t give it a second thought. You climb off the zombie and go to sleep on another of the beds/tables in the room.

You wake up the next day and you want to do it again. So you do.

But when the next sunrise comes, you know you have to move on. When you’re about to step out the door, you take one last look behind you and see your undead lover writhe on the table and you can’t bear to leave him behind. He’s given you your life back. (You don’t yet realize just how much life he’s given you.) You decide to make this is your new home base and just go on a run for supplies.

You do this over and over again, always considering leaving for good, but you just can’t give this up. You love the feeling of being filled day after day, night after night. You’re addicted to the drunken feeling you get from being pounded with unrestrained, carnal instinct and his stamina is something else entirely. You expect his ability to get it up (and keep it up) to fade, but it never does.

When you finally realize you’re pregnant, you don’t know what you want to do. Do you follow through with the plan you had when you first saw the funeral home? Or do you try to reverse the endless death by bringing some new life into the world? You want to, but you also don’t know what might happen with the baby in your belly. Is it automatically infected because its father is? You decide you might as well find out.

Your belly swells and you stroke the curve, always forcing yourself to focus on relishing the feeling today and refusing to think about what might happen in the future. You aren’t sure what it means that the farther along you are, the more your lover seems to recognize you. It doesn’t stop his rabid thrusting, but you no longer need to be careful of his snapping and gnashing teeth. He’s more interested in wagging and flicking his tongue than using his teeth.

You fear it means that your baby is more zombie than person, but then nothing bad seems to happen and the baby still grows and you reason that the baby can’t grow if it’s dead. The kicks and nudges and tumbles do sometimes make you nervous that the baby might finally be trying to do damage rather than just be stretching its limbs (especially when the baby stretches so far that it warps and distends the already tightly stretched skin of your belly), but you give the little foot or hand a few rubs or pats and it shifts back into place.

It’s hard to keep track of days, so you aren’t sure when your due date will come. You feel huge and you keep thinking you must be close to giving birth, but the days continue to tick by and you continue to grow. You’re amazed how big you can get. Feeling the tug, pull, and sway of such a heavy burden fastened to your front and how much it slows you down when you go on supply runs, you want to give birth so badly, but when back in your macabre refuge, you revel in the feeling of the hypersensitive skin of your smooth, strained belly trying desperately to contain the heft of your child. You almost wish you could be like this forever.

Finally, your body decides to surrender. Your practice contractions turn into real contractions and then quickly afterwards your water breaks. You groan and moan at the feeling of your womb squeezing your heavy child further and further down. You try to walk around the room and you feel your lover’s eyes follow you. For a moment, you entertain the thought that he knows his child is coming, but you quickly dismiss it as nonsense. Gravity pulls on your already burdened body and you feel your child’s head is grinding its way down further and further. Your groans and moans turn into shouts that you try to choke back. You don’t want to lure in zombies from outside when you’re at your weakest.

Your lover jerks and jolts against the binds and you worry that he will tear off limbs to get at you if he has to. All the docility that seemed to grow in him seems to be nothing compared to his bloodthirsty nature. You feel foolish for building up some sort of trust in him. He’s a zombie, nothing more than a functioning dick to use.

At long last, it feels like time to push. You strip off all your clothes and lower yourself to the floor, the chill of the floor against the flushed skin of your ass makes you gasp. You try to focus; gripping onto the door of one of the refrigerators meant to be holding dead bodies. You push and push and struggle and strain to try to get your baby to crown. The pain is excruciating. The progress is agonizingly slow. You fight for every millimeter of progress. You rub the expanse of your belly, hoping to coax it to relax for a moment to give you some relief but the contractions continue to rip through you mercilessly, so sometimes, when you feel particularly desperate, you help yourself push by also pushing on the top of your solid belly. But the progress is still extremely slow.

You feel your heart pound even harder in your chest when you think that this baby must be overdue and you realize that it could be really, really overdue. Memories of seasons changing flash through your mind and you’re sure you saw at least one season twice. With all this pain, you can’t think straight long enough to do the math. How many times are the seasons supposed to change in a normal pregnancy? How long have you been pregnant? How many times had you thought “today must be the day” when the due date was really a long, long time ago? Will you be able to get this baby out of you?

You know there’s nothing you can do but push.

You finally get the head to crown and, reaching your hand down to feel around, you convince yourself that the head must be at the widest point. It just has to be. Your body feels like it might have to break in half to get this baby out. When you feel the head finally, mercifully break free, you feel a wave of relief that you managed to get it out of you. You take a deep breath, feel around to see if the cord is wrapped around your baby’s neck, and, finding no cord, wait for the next contraction so you can try to push the rest of this baby out. To say that the progress is painfully slow would be a serious, serious understatement. One shoulder slips out and then the other and, once you’ve pushed your child out far enough, you try to reach down to help yourself out. When you get the chance, you carefully hook your fingers in your huge child’s armpits and pull as you push until your baby’s body slips fully out of your body. Holding your baby in your arms at long last, you’re amazed at how huge it is. You feel a rush of pride and pleasure at the thought that you were able to carry and birth it. You’ve birthed a totally human, but monstrously large baby after carrying it around inside you and fighting off countless zombies for likely far, far longer than any other human ought to.

With a jolt you remember the baby’s father, who was previously doing his best to break loose. Thankfully, you see that he’s made little progress. You also notice that he seems to get as much pleasure from you birthing his massive progeny as you feel coursing through your veins.

You eye his erection.

Your child deserves a sibling.


End file.
